


When Bucky Found Steve

by coldbrewcoffee



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Stucky - Freeform, catws, haha what is continuity, not sure if a plot will develop, vaguely follows the movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:11:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldbrewcoffee/pseuds/coldbrewcoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bucky stumbles across Steve when he least expects it, and Steve makes a habit of taking strays home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Know You

**Author's Note:**

> This only vaguely follows post-CA:TWS as I haven't seen the movie in like a month, so some of the setup might be screwy (oops). Other than that it kinda just stands alone as a Stucky fic with fluff/angst.

There was nothing but the sound of his own breathing and the pounding of feet against cement, and Steve was lonely.

Sam was away with Tony, designing more durable wings, and thus left Steve to be his own running mate in the mornings. The relocation to D.C. had been rough on all of the Avengers, especially since nobody really knew what they would do once they got there. Nobody except Steve, who was set on finding Bucky again, and bringing him home.

No, home was in New York. He would bring him to D.C. and try to keep S.H.I.E.L.D. interrogators off his back. He half-hoped there wouldn’t be any left, but that was selfish and he didn’t like to dwell on it. He didn’t like to dwell on Bucky, either, but there he was, running and picturing the haunted, new-and-in-pieces shell of his old friend.

Till the end of the line. Surely the end of the line hadn’t already come and gone. Surely Steve wasn’t running in circles trying to look for the Winter Soldier, like he was around the Mall.

This obsession with finding Bucky had blurred the days and hours at its worst; and in all honesty, there was no “best”. There was only the search that seemed to be constantly teetering on the edge of failure, for weeks since he woke up on that riverbed.

It was becoming one of the worst times as Steve sat on a curb, panting and sweating and _aching_. God, his stomach twisted and his chest ached and his head throbbed and his shoulders burned and —

“You. It’s... It’s you.”

_It’s him._

Steve was on his feet so fast he was dizzy, and the image of Bucky standing hunched by a light post swam in circles. But he was there, hugging his torso tightly as if to keep himself from shattering. He was there, shaking and pale and for God’s sake _alive_.

“Yeah,” Steve gasped, wondering if he should believe his eyes. “Yeah, it’s me. It’s me, Bucky. You know me.”

“I… knew him.”

“You know me.” He hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. “Bucky… do you have a place to go? To sleep?”

“A place… no. No, I…” He paused. “I know you.”

A grip like ice had seized Steve by the chest as he began to take in how disoriented, how _lost_ Bucky was. “Yeah, you do. You know me, and I know you. You’re Bucky. I’m Steve. Do you remember that part?”

“Steve… Steve.” He took half a step toward Steve (which was more of his top half lurching forward and his left leg thrusting out to stop the fall). “Steve…”

And in a flash, one very cold, very strong hand was around Steve’s neck, gripping and squeezing — but not, Steve observed in wonder and relief, killing.

“Bucky,” he choked out, “Bucky… you… know… me…”

Like the flick of a switch, the hand was gone and the Winter Soldier was on his knees next to a coughing, spluttering Steve.

“I know you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 should be up soon, either by tonight or by tomorrow night. Thanks for reading!


	2. Hot Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 hopefully coming tomorrow. Thanks again for reading!

Steve only vaguely remembered stumbling to his new, secret apartment with an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. He only vaguely remembered putting him on the bed with all the tenderness of a lover or a mother, and pulling the sheets over a dirty, clammy Bucky. But he remembered his old friend’s eyes, and the way they constantly shifted from grateful to ashamed to mistrusting of the blond standing over him. These were the eyes Steve had known for both his lives, and now half the time they didn’t know him.

He waited for three hours until Bucky fell asleep. There were no incidents, but Bucky had always had trouble falling asleep; even back in the forties, when he slept over at Steve’s place, he would stare at the ceiling for hours before finally dozing off. Steve only knew this because he couldn’t sleep until he knew the other was safe in his slumber.

In the living room, while Bucky snored softly in the small bedroom, Steve cried. He cried for the broken look on his friend’s face; he cried for the Soldier still tearing at Bucky from the inside; and he cried for the old times, when metal arms were sci-fi scary stories and the Serum was still unknown to him.

After all the fights Bucky had fought for him, after all the times he’d shown up just before the big bully beat him down, Steve found himself despairing at the thought of not being able to fight this one for Bucky. He wanted nothing more than to shoulder the weight of whatever Hydra had done and do the protecting for once. He was strong now, and he couldn’t even fight this battle.

That day, that first day, was the worst. Every hour or so, Bucky would wake screaming as if Hydra scientists were standing over him again. Steve would run in and tell him it was okay, that he was away from all that; only sometimes Bucky seemed to see his target again, and would go for Steve’s throat. Every time, Steve would talk his way out of it, but began to realize he needed a new tactic if he wanted to make it through the night.

Around eleven, it happened again; Bucky was screaming, Steve came running, only to run right into the clutch of the freezing steel hand. Now Steve placed his hand on his cheek, his touch gentle and forgiving. Bucky froze, not even breathing, eyes full of confusion. He let Steve go.

“You.”

The next day wasn’t easier, but it wasn’t as hard, either. Bucky slept through most of the morning and afternoon, with the terrors becoming less and less frequent. Steve had yet to call Fury, and he was reluctant to do so; it was all he needed to have his Soldier taken away from him again right after he had him back. So Steve stayed home, watching television and checking on Bucky every half hour.

When he finally woke for good, Bucky was groggy and still disoriented. Rather than try and jog his memory, Steve decided to simply care for him, and only tell Bucky something if he asked. He predicted a rather quiet evening (and, honestly, hoped rather desperately for one).

He moved stiffly, still shaky and weak. Steve helped him sit up and dangle his legs over the side of the bed, where feet still clad in dingy sneakers scuffed the floor. Bucky barely looked up, simply staring with mildly glazed eyes and slightly parted, chapped lips. His breathing was somewhat shallow, but all that mattered was that he was still drawing breath.

“Hey,” Steve whispered. “You’re awake.” Bucky only grunted. “What do you want me to do? I’m gonna take care of you today, okay? Just tell me what to do.”

He mumbled something. Sensing that it wasn’t understood, he croaked a little louder, “Bath.”

“A bath? Can you get up?”

He responded by slowly pulling himself from the bed, leaning heavily on Steve’s shoulder with his left arm. “Bath.”

“Okay.” Steve stood as well, and placed an arm around Bucky’s waist. Guiding him to the bathroom, he asked, “Cold or hot water?”

“Hot,” Bucky blurted hoarsely. “Hot water. Please.”

“Alright. Do you need help undressing?”

Bucky nodded, and Steve noticed tears welling in his eyes, as if he were ashamed of this incapacitated state. _God, Bucky, don’t cry. You’re safe, you’re finally safe, just please don’t cry…_

Ten minutes later, Bucky sat in the claw-footed tub, steam rising to fill the cramped bathroom. Steve had pulled up a chair to help him bathe, and was bent over him, scrubbing gently at his back with a soapy cloth that smelled like flowers. ( _Thanks, Stark_.) Bucky's pale, scarred skin was caked in a layer of dirt, and he seemed glad to not have to do this on his own.

With only the sound of dripping water and their own breathing, Steve and Bucky shared a moment of peace. Neither knew how long it would last, but both were blissfully drinking in every second of flowery, tender closeness.


	3. Chapter 3

After the bath, Steve suddenly remembered the importance of eating — something neither of them had done in a while. Bucky was dressed and shrouded in blankets on the couch, his eyes directed vaguely at the television. Some show about kittens was playing, and Steve had to marvel for a moment at modern methods of entertainment (though there was no denying that the kittens were cute). Bucky seemed to enjoy it, so he left it on and moved into the most spacious place in the apartment: the kitchen.

Cooking, like running and drawing, had become one of Steve’s favorite ways of closing out the rest of the world and spending time with himself. The other Avengers always wanted him to cook when they were gathered at Stark Tower, and always proclaimed his skills as the best they’d ever tasted.

He was proud of his prowess in the kitchen, but wasn’t sure if this situation would be suitable for a five-star meal. There was no telling when and what Bucky had last eaten, or how sensitive his stomach might be from all the stress of recuperating; so he spent a good four or five minutes staring into the pantry, trying to find something Bucky had the best chance of keeping down.

Steve spotted a box of boil-in-bag rice and pulled it down. _This should do_ , he thought.

He tried to be quiet in pulling out a pot, filling it with water, and setting it on a burner. While he waited for it to boil, Steve walked back into the darkening living room and sat on the couch next to the bundle that was Bucky.

“Hey, Buck. You think you can eat something?” he asked softly. “I’m boiling some rice.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Sounds good.” He sniffled. “I’m starving.”

“We’re gonna have to start slow, though. I want to make sure you can keep it down.” Bucky nodded again, and Steve stood. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

Steve figured talking more meant he was slowly getting better. He wondered how long it would be until there was some small sense of normalcy again, or if there would ever be any.

Once the rice had cooked for the ten minutes instructed on the box, Steve turned off the stove and moved the pot to an unused burner. Just then, the phone sitting on the breakfast bar that faced a little dining area rang, filling the apartment with shrill beeping. He saw from the corner of his eye that Bucky had winced as he picked up the wireless device to see who was calling.

_Dir. Fury_ shone on the bright white screen of the sleek black phone. Steve pressed the “take call" button, but couldn't even say “hello” before Fury was calmly demanding where the hell he’d been that day.

“I wasn't feeling well,” Steve lied. “I think it’s a stomach bug. I should have called, but I was kind of afraid to leave the bathroom.”

“Uh-huh.” He could hear the mistrust of the statement in Fury’s voice. “Well, call if you’re gonna be out next time. You missed the meeting about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s next move. I’ve sent an e-mail with the minutes and the files you’ll need.”

“That was today?” Steve was suddenly cold. “Oh, man. Okay, I’ll-I’ll check the e-mail.”

“Good. Feel better, Cap.” Was that venom in his voice? “Call next time.” The line was dead.

Running a hand through his messy blond hair, Steve placed the phone back in its stand and sighed. “Nice,” he muttered to himself.

Several minutes later, dinner was served, and Bucky took his first tentative bite of food under the watchful eye of Steve. He seemed to be okay with eating, but Steve still didn’t eat until he was completely certain. The rice was plain, but it was food, so he didn’t mind too much; neither did Bucky, it seemed, as he sat and ate steadily.

After their meal, Steve collected their bowls and placed them in the sink to be washed later. Bucky still sat on the couch, watching what must have been a marathon about kittens and puppies.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, walking back into the living room. “You want to get some fresh air? It can get stuffy in the apartment sometimes.”

He looked up at Steve for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah.”

The night was chilly, and Bucky was bundled in one of Steve’s bulky leather jackets as they trundled down the narrow staircase to the landing between two other, smaller apartments yet unoccupied. They stepped onto the large front porch, their breaths misting before their faces.

Bucky took deep breaths, as if he wanted to take in as much of the crisp autumn air as he could. Steve watched him, taking careful note of how his face glowed in the light of the dying sunset — even in illness, his Soldier was beautiful.

Then he was holding Bucky’s hand and whispering, “You’ll make it through this. You’ll get better, Buck, I swear on my life.”

The metal hand squeezed the flesh one, and kept squeezing and squeezing. Steve tried to jerk away, but the grip only became tighter, and he was sure something was about to break—

A soft mewling broke the silence. A kitten, coal-black and no more than a few months old, had wandered up to the porch, crying. Half of its left ear was missing, and one eye was yellow, the other blue. Steve’s hand was free, as Bucky was reaching down to let the cat smell his hand.

Bucky looked back and up at Steve. “Can we keep her?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll be aiming for seven chapters. Thanks for reading!


End file.
